After the Music Fades
by united states of fail
Summary: Our heroes learn the hard way that after life has reached it's climax, it's all downhill from there.
1. Career Dissatisfaction

A/N: I own nothing. Obviously.

"And that, everyone, is why you break the grindylow's grip BEFORE it nearly succeeds in strangling you. Fortunately for whoever that was, he was only mildly asphyxiated. Any questions?"

Despite the quite obvious sarcasm in his statement, some poor imbecile in the crowd proceeded to raise their hand. Resisting the urge to beat his head against the wall 'till his ears started leaking brain fluid, Ron forced his facial features to arrange themselves from their current "are you retarded?" expression to his more socially accepted, ministry approved, "there is no such thing as a stupid question, despite the fact that you are about to prove me wrong" look.

"Yes, Miss...oh. Miss Brown?

For indeed, it was none other than the face sucking, overly dramatic, boyfriend bling buying, former girlfriend herself. Smiling in what may have passed as a non-seductive look if her face was viewed in the dark by a nearsighted 80 year old 40 yards away, she proceeded to whip out a notepad quill.

"Yes, I'm here with the Daily Prophet. Mr. Weasley, is it in fact true that none other than Harry Potter himself will be in charge of the new Auror training program at Hogwarts?"

The crowd of onlookers who had gathered at the commotion of someone getting choked to death by a grindylow, in a public swimming pool no less, hadn't expected the situation to turn into an interview. While some proceeded to look on in mild curiosity, others looked as though Christmas had come early. Already, whispers were spreading through the crowd at the speed of fungi growing in a pair of wet trainers.

Running his hand through his hair, Ron sighed. "At this point, it's undetermined as to whether there will actually be an Auror Training program at Hogwarts. Details are still being mapped out as we speak."

He was forcibly reminded of Rita Skeeter as Lavender sucked the end of her quill in thought. However, before she could ask another question, he bowed to the onlookers and saluted the slightly startled would be reporter.

"Folks, it's been great and all. However, I'm needed back and the ministry, and as we all know, duty comes first. It's been a joy, and remember," he reminded the still recovering victim of the grindylow attack, "break the grip before it strangles you. Have a nice week."

And with these words, he dissaparated with a loud CRACK! However, the ministry was not his destination. Not yet, anyways. It was time to pay a visit to an old friend.


	2. What a Bad Idea

Smoke drifted from the chimney of the small cottage as Ron appeared just outside the front door. However, he was startled to find Fang tied up outside, snuffling among Hagrid's pumpkins for any unfortunate small animals who didn't have the intelligence to stay away. At Ron's sudden appearance, he left off with his hunting and began a deafening baying, which sent an entire flock of terrified crows heading for safety.

Just as Ron was about to make his way over to deliver a scratch behind the ears, he was yanked inside by a hand roughly the size of a child's sled. Whirling around, he came face to face with none other than Hagrid himself, in all his bushy faced glory.

"Why Hagrid! Long time no see. But don't bother to wait for me to knock on the door or anything. Just grab me and yank me inside. I mean, that makes perfect sense, doesn't it?"

"Well, yeh see, I would have showed you in proper if it hadn't been for..., well, some special circumstances. As it was, I was hardly expectin' yeh to stop by like this. The ministry didn't send yeh, did they?"

"No," he replied, mildly curious at his friend's behavior. "You're not expecting them, are you? And why won't you let me sit down?"

For Hagrid was blocking every move Ron made, in an effort to keep him from getting further inside. Wait a moment...

"Hagrid, where's Grawp?"

If he had looked guilty before, he now could have put every prisoner in Azkaban to shame.

"Oh, yeh know, he's just out explorin.' No matter. Whaddaya say to a cup of tea or summat?"

"Could we possibly enjoy it, you know, sitting down? Only I've been having this ridiculous day...grindylows popping up in a swimming pool over in Surrey.." With this, Ron proceeded to try out his "new and improved" Krup Eyes. The old ones had lost their potency, as demonstrated when he accidentally knocked Hermione in the face with his fist the other night. It really wasn't his fault. He was a wild sleeper by nature, and getting beaten up was a risk one took when spending the night in his bed. However, his newly black-eyed girlfriend had disagreed, and he found himself on the sofa.

"Eh, the eyes could use a bit o' work. Tilt your head down more, and don't pout so much and I think ye' got it. I suppose you're goin' teeh keep it up till I let you in, eh? Well, come on then."

Ron grinned as Hagrid stepped aside to allow him to enter. However, his smile quickly faded as he saw the disaster of the room. Trying to be polite, he glanced at Hagrid.

"Teaching keeping you busy lately?"

"Yeh, along with caring for Grawp and all, it's been a real handful. Cleanin's gotten on top o' me, really."

That was certainly an understatement. There were kettles and clothing everywhere, not to mention all the broken furniture. Inexplicably, some of it appeared, in addition to being broken, a bit singed. It was as if someone had been hastily putting out small fires, only to have another three develop as the first was dying. It was almost similar to when...

A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Ron again asked, "Hagrid, where's Grawp?"

As he looked deep into the ground keeper's small, beetle black eyes, he remembered back eleven years, to being a kid again, and trying to keep a baby dragon a secret so that Hagrid wouldn't get into trouble...

Hagrid was saved from having to confess by his younger brother's appearance, complete with baby dragon in hand.

"Grawp and Draco back from walk. Draco eat lots and lots of rabbits. Happy."

Ron was torn between banging his head against the wall at Hagrid's determination at owning a pet that could not only kill him but burn down his house and the entire school while at it, and laughing at the fact that said terror was named after his mortal enemy.

Hagrid, shooting Ron his best winning smile, held the dragon out for Ron to pet. However, since his last encounter with one had resulted in a nasty hand bite which had proceeded to swell and turn green, he opted to back away while giving the grounds keeper his best, "you have got to be kidding me" look. Before he could open his mouth to say anything, Hagrid cut him off.

"Look, I know what yer 'bout teeh say, but I got this one legit and everything from a breeder in Romania. Came with his own special pen and all."

Ron blinked. "A breeder in Romania sold you a dragon."

Hagrid smiled happily. "Told 'em I was using 'em for naught but classes for the seventh years. Which is the truth. Plus, Grawp loves him."

"And you named him Draco?"

"Nope, Grawp as well. Malfoy, the little git himself was in here to oversee the paperwork. Grawp took a real shine to 'em right from the minute he arrived. Only way I could convince Grawp to let 'em leave was to promise to name the dragon "Draco."

Chuckling slightly, another thought occurred to Ron. "Why wouldn't you let me in, then? And why were you acting so shifty?"

At this, Hagrid sighed. "Well, Ron, here's the thing. Biscuit? No? Anyway, the Ministry figures it'd be best if as few people know bout this as possilbe, least till school starts up again. I can't well be seen having visitors over for tea midday. Speaking of, how's the new training program coming along?"

Ron gave an ill-tempered "humph" and proceeded to attempt to feed Draco a biscuit. The little dragon turned up his nose, and went back to snuffling Ron's boots.

"At this rate, it'll never get off the ground. Harry keeps getting all of these 'brilliant' ideas, and never sees any of them through. To be honest, I don't know how he's even getting funding anymore. What's more is that he's trying to micromanage everything. If he would delegate, like a regular human being..." he petered off, staring gloomily out the window. It had begun to rain slightly, which barely helped his mood at all.

"I don't suppose it would make any difference for me to tell you that owning a dragon is a very, very bad idea?"

At this, they both glanced out the door to where Grawp and Draco were romping among the pumpkins, with Fang between them barking himself senseless.

Smiling happily, Hagrid shook his head. "Not one bit. We're a family, and if the ministry's got issue with that, they can take it up with me personally. Speakin' of, what did you swing by here for anyways?"

Shrugging, Ron prepared to go. However, just be for dissaperating, he looked back at his friend. "Hagrid...do you like your job?"

"Certainly. Why?"

"I mean, you never feel like dashing your brains out against a wall, or beating people upside the head with large blunt objects?"

"Not often, no. Why, do you?" At this, Hagrid looked somewhat concerned as to his friend's mental well-being.

"Oh, no, never mind. Just curious. Stop by for dinner sometime, okay? Hermione and I would love to see you."

"Sure, sure. Send everyone my love, and remember, Mum's the word on Draco. Right?"

"Right."

And with that, Ron revolved on the spot and disapeared

A few minutes later, Hagrid still stood in the doorway, scratching his beard and wondering what could possibly be troubling his friend.


	3. Burn, Baby Burn

Of leaking cauldrons and flaming magic

The Ministry of Magic was housed underground in an ancient building of monstrous proportions. It had housed the Wizengamot for time out of mind, and was, in fact, the base of operations for the Order of the Phoenix. It was full of prestige, splendor, and history- which was probably not a good thing, as it was currently ablaze.

It was your typical chaotic fire scene- people running aimlessly, hands in the air, flaming documents blowing in the breeze, setting fire to everything else, Percy Weasley on his knees, screaming to the heavens as around him, his 18 parchment roll-long report on cauldron-bottom thickness went up in flames...

Ron arrived on the scene in time to see Hermione attempting to console his emotionally distraught brother and extinguish her hair at the same time, as at some point during the blaze, the tips had started to smolder.

"Do I want to know why the ministry's on fire?" he asked by way of greeting as he conjured a fountain from his wand to douse her hair.

"Hello to you too. How was your day? Really? Mine was great too. I spent my day getting torched by Harry when he decided to use actual fire at his presentation for the Auror Program. 'Set the Students ablaze for Defense against the Dark Arts!' my arse. More like, 'Set an entire building ablaze and make sure the program gets declined. Is my hair still on fire? I can't tell."

"You mean to tell me Harry set the Ministry of Magic on fire."

"Yes. Basically."

"Harry Potter."

"That's him."

"The Boy who Lived burned the most important magical structure in our country to the ground."

"That's about the long and short of it."

"Bloody hell. Bloody HELL. What about everyone's jobs? What are we supposed to do? Where the hell is Harry, anyways?"

Hermione, carefully examining the ends of her already frizzy hair for signs of extensive damage, pointed across the street to their friend, who was trying his best to lure the head of his department out of a small tree that he had decided to climb- key word being small. Meaning that Dawlish had of course climbed to the very top, and was on a very slow decent towards the ground, ranting and threatening use all three unforgivable curses on Harry once he got down.

"Er...Hermy? Why is Dawlish in a tree?"

"That I do not know."

She rolled her eyes at Ron's look of feigned amazement. "There you have it. The final proof that I do not, in fact, know everything. Now, Percy, please get up. You look like an absolute idiot. I'm sure since the ministry's basically been obliterated within the last ten minutes, no one will be particularly interested in cauldron bottoms anyways."

Percy, proceeding to sniff rather pathetically into his sleeve, whimpered, "Sure? But what if someone gets hurt because their cauldron leaked all over them? I'll get blamed..."

His brother scooped him up and set him on his feet. "Now, Percy, I'm completely positive that you are the only person in the entire world who actually has enough bad luck that their cauldron bottom would leak on them. As you can go on blaming yourself till you're blue in the face, and you're the only one who would care, what do you say we grab Harry and go head over to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink?"

At the words "Leaky Cauldron" Percy began to wail all over again.


	4. The Weasel in the Pot

The four of them sat together at the bar of the Leaky Cauldron, nursing mugs of Fire Whiskey and wondering where the hell they were going to find jobs now that the entire Ministry had gone up in smoke. Harry, in particular, was screwed, as he had not only lost his job but was being held personally and financially responsible for the damages. At the moment, he was on his fourth mug, and sobbing onto Percy's shoulder. Percy, for his part, had managed to pull himself together into a drunken joyous stupor, and was rambling on about how he intended to eliminate the substandard cauldron problem completely by opening his own shop, and selling only titanium cauldrons.

"Never another leaky cauldron report to worry about, eh? Shove off, Harry, you almost knocked my drink over...as I was saying, Muggle titanium is at least, what I dunno, ten times stronger than pewter..."

"Hey, Herm, what would you think if I told you that I was considering quitting my job?" Ron asked as he attempted to reassuringly pat Harry's back and shove him back onto his stool at the same time.

Hermione halted, mug raised halfway to her lips. "What do you mean, quit your job? I mean, I know sometimes things at the Ministry can be a total fiasco, but...do you really hate your job that much?"

Between them, Percy was trying to talk Harry into coming on board as an employee in the Titanium Cauldron Industry. "Might even make partner, you know? And no one getting your name wrong all day long, calling you "Weatherby" and "Wheatley" and "Weasel"...I think that one may have been intentional, actually, but like I said..."

Ron, leaning in closer to Hermione and ignoring Harry's sudden outburst of, "What will I tell Ginny?!", responded, "It's not so much that I hate my job as it is I really just can't bring myself to be all that bothered over it anymore. It's not like it was when we were kids, with adventures all over the place and death eaters needing their arses handed to them on a plate. I'm just...bored."

"Bored?!" The look on Hermione's face had gone from surprised to mildly pissed. "Bored with what? Not having to worry about your friends or family being killed on a daily basis? Inferi roaming the streets? Death Eaters taking over Hogwarts? Quite frankly, I've had all the adventure I can stomach for a lifetime, and you ought to be grateful-"

"Grateful for what? That my life consists of saving idiots from their own stupid mistakes? Being taken for granted? Having a girlfriend who manages to turn every discussion into an argument? The truth is, nothing we do matters anymore. I feel about as useful right now as my accountant cousin Henry-"

"That's it! I'll become an accountant!"

Their burgeoning argument was cut short by Harry, now thoroughly sloshed, having what muggles refer to as a "light bulb moment."

"Harry," Hermione began, but was cut off by her friend as he began to speak louder and louder about the joys of long division.

" I mean, accountants are really rich, right? I can pay off my debt to the ministry in no time. Ron, tell Hermione to keep all her prissy logic to herself. No one cares about a university education anymore. I mean, I went to m*ther f*cking Hogwarts, for Merlin's sake. What better education could I possibly need?"

"Oooh, Harry, we can go into business together! You can handle all the finances, and I'll be the face of the store! We can call it the Weasel in the Pot! How fabulous is that?"

At Percy's quite serious use of the word "fabulous" Ron decided that it was time to go, before his brother and Harry opted to do a photo shoot for posters of the store in drag. As for Hermione (and her "prissy logic")...well, it looked like he would be spending the night on the sofa.


	5. The One Without a Decent Title

That night, as Ron lay on the sofa listening to the people upstairs practice river dance, he wondered what would happen if he actually did quit his job at the ministry. Despite Harry's drunken ramblings about not actually needing an education beyond Hogwarts, they were both rather limited as far as job skills were concerned. In the wizarding world, there were very few jobs that didn't require specific training, and the fact that he could effectively disarm four oncoming wizards at once would do him no good whatsoever in any other field. As the frantic banging on the floor stopped briefly, and Ted began to bicker at Ramona for coming in late with her solo, he considered possible fields.

Gringotts...hmmm...no. He had no clue how to do the job, and absolutely no desire to learn how.

Training dragons...that could be-painful. Very painful. Never mind.

He could always open a shop in Diagon Alley...selling what? Wands? Ice cream? Bludgers to beat the people upstairs over the head with?

Thoroughly fed up, he yanked the pillow over his head and growled miserably to himself. Hermione was lucky. She slept like a rock. She probably didn't even notice the way the entire building was shaking, as if Grawp were attempting to jump rope on the roof.

"....Ron?"

He lept into the air as something prodded his back. Whirling around, he came face to face with Hermione, her hair in it's full bushy glory surrounding her like an obsessively persistent rain cloud.

"I didn't mean to scare you-"

"You didn't scare me. What is it?"

"There's no need for you to be short like that," she replied curling at the end of the sofa. Taking a seat at the other end, they both sat in silence- or as close to silence as could be considering that Ted and Ramona had now been joined by Bart, Jill, and Sam. It now sounded as though the ceiling may come down on them at any moment. In fact, there were little particles of dust coming down in small

snowstorms already...

"Let's go."

"Do you think that coffee shop is still open?"

"It doesn't matter. I just don't want to be in here when the ceiling gives."

"Should we just say something?"

"Nah. They would probably stab us and dance on our dead bodies."

"Good point. You know, if the ceiling does give, we could always sue them and give the money to Harry."

"...Or we could sue them and use the money to move far, far away."

"Let's just go."

Wearing their pajamas under their coats, the two of them slipped on trainers and made their way down the stairs to the front entrance. Matthew the night guard tipped his hat at them and gave them a commiserating look as the dance crew three flights up continued with renewed fervor. As they walked, it began to rain slightly, adding to the chill night air.

"It's going to snow soon. "

"It's only September."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean that snow is entirely outside the realm of possibility."

"But still, you have to admit that it's highly unlikely."

"So's the possibility that the Boy Who Lived is going to burn down the Ministry of Magic."

"Yes, but..."

"But what?"

"Has Harry seemed a bit, well...out of sorts to you?"

Ron stopped walking, staring straight ahead at the rain dripping from the ends of his hair.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm just all bent out of shape about Harry seeming a bit out of sorts. I mean, I haven't noticed at all that the person I'm with, and supposedly care about, maybe even love, is going through what may equate to being a mild mid-life crisis. Because hey, Harry's a bit out of sorts, and that's really all that matters, isn't it?"

With that, he continued marching through the rain, not even stopping to check that Hermione was even behind him. However, he could hear her, yelling at him through the rain. She didn't even have the decency to catch up wit h him, to ask what was wrong. He even would have settled for her chasing him down to beat up on him. Fine. Whatever. She could just go back home, and he would go to the shop himself. Hopefully, the entire group of dancers fell in on top of her along with the roof. Oooh, good one.

As he turned around to say his retort out loud, he realized she wasn't behind him at all. Figuring she had already gone back to the apartment, he headed on to the coffee shop, where he proceeded to order himself a hot steaming cup of cocoa. Funny, but it was the best he'd ever had.


	6. Tic Tac?

The next morning, he awoke face down on the table in the corner booth of the shop. As he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, his first thought after _where the bloody hell am I_ was _she's going to kill me this time._ It didn't matter that he was still angry at her. It didn't matter that she had just dissapeared last night, without a single word. All that mattered was that he hadn't come home, and she had been worried sick, blah blah blah, ect. Stretching his long legs and yawning loudly enough to attract the attention of local university students who were swinging by for their daily overpriced cup of what literally tasted like mud, he grabbed his coat and prepared to leave, only to run into the most unpleasant person in the world on his way out. His blonde, ridiculously expensive haircut pratically sparkling in the sunlight, his silver cufflinks glinting as he pulled out his pocketbook to pay for his skinny decaf french vanilla cappacino, his pointy-toed shoes proclaiming his blantant homosexuality for the world to see, Draco Malfoy smirked as the still sleep-addled Ron attempted to come up with something snarky, or at least mildly unpleasant to say.

"My, oh my. It's finally happened. You've lost that miniscule shoebox of an apartment and been forced to live on the streets. Do they feed you leftover biscotti here, or are you just panhandling?"

"Nice shoes. Were they your mother's at some point, or have you just taken to dressing in drag?"

"Is that the best you've got, Mr. I've got dry drool down the side of my chin?"

"You're hardly one to talk, Mr. Natural blonde, or as natural as you can get where your hair color comes in a peroxide bottle."

"Ginger."

"Barbie."

"Clown."

"Idiot."

"Poor person."

"Rich obnoxious bastard."

"Oh dear God, your breath is terrible. For the love of all that is good and holy, have a tic tac. Really. Please."

"What in hell is a 'tic tac'?"

"Is this little muggle pill looking thing here. It's very minty, and you suck on it and it gets rid of things like morning breath- which, by the way, you seem to have overdosed on."

"Well, alright then- hey! These are really good. Where do you get these things?"

"Muggle stores sell them. Nice, right? Okay, where were we?"

"Rich obnoxious bastard."

"Right then. At least I'm not sleeping in booths in 24 hour coffee shops."

"I really should have just left you in the Room of Requirement to burn."

"Yes, but you had to be all 'noble" and save me. Regret it?"

"Every day of my life."

"That's what hanging out with that Potter will get you. That little whiny bastard ruins everything-"

"I know, right? I can't even get through a conversation with Hermione without her going on about 'Poor Harry,' and 'Harry seems stressed out', and 'Harry's been a bit out of sorts lately'-"

"Oh I know. Asteria's the same way. She and Daphne do nothing at all but discuss whether or not Harry's vendetta against the dark lord was really to defeat him once and for all, or some sort of deranged power quest."

"It's impossible to get away from him. And he just burned the Ministry entirely to ashes, did you hear?"

"No! He actually burned it completely to the ground?"

"To the bloody ground. The Boy Who Effing Destroyed the Ministry."

"The Boy Who Couldn't Be Trusted With Matches."

"Good one, good one. Well, I've got to get going, so Hermione can properly ream me out."

"Yup. It's been miserable. I hate you."

"Till next time."

"See you then."


End file.
